Free online greeting card maker or poetry art generator. Create free custom printable greeting cards or art from photos and text online. Use PoetrySoup's free online software to make greeting cards from poems, quotes, or your own words. Generate memes, cards, or poetry art for any occasion; weddings, anniversaries, holidays, etc (See examples here). Make a card to show your loved one how special they are to you. Once you make a card, you can email it, download it, or share it with others on your favorite social network site like Facebook. Also, you can create shareable and downloadable cards from poetry on PoetrySoup. Use our poetry search engine to find the perfect poem, and then click the camera icon to create the card or art.
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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required She was the coolest chick I never knew, with hair of black and eyes of blue; like, I'd watch her as the sun set down, she held the breath of the whole damn town. Now, incarcerated, I know the shadows are fast comin' down, and I can see the strip lights growin' dim; the fact she split, I cannot get my head around, or the fact the winter nights are drawin' in. All I seem to do is smoke and dream of wine, or sit around clingin' to relics, servin' my time; I cannot shut down the thoughts rattlin' thru' my mind: those ghost dance malicious echoes of Celandine. It's not as though she much looked my way or that I could think of a single word to say to her; all I did was watch her walkin', cool as jazz, in the street; her smiles, her gigs, were never for me, yet they blew me off my feet, man. So, one day, anyhow, she just upped and moved away from town; I cannot forget, or believe, how much I missed her, how it broke me down. She never knew I existed, I guess, never gave me a first, let alone a second glance; in her world, in her eyes, losers like me don't stand a chance. I celebrated my love for her that night in a drunken shotgun roar; high on T. Bird, low on brains, I hit the local liquor store. So why now do I smoke these murderin' cigarettes and dream of lousy, bitter wine? Why do I sit like some burned-out zombie, servin' my time? And why, after all these years, am I still haunted by the ghost dance malicious echoes of Celandine. They say it's better to have loved and lost… I say, drop dead, 'cos you know nothin'.
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